Eastern Raid
by GM ace
Summary: A Federation Special Forces team fights to retake the Earth. A Sidestory to Mobile Suit Gundam. Please R&R.
1. The Waiting Game

Disclaimer: This is the only time I'll say it: I do NOT own Mobile Suit Gundam or any of the mobile suit designs present here. However, all characters present here are fully original; if you want to use them for whatever, or wish to reference this story, please ask permission to do so.

_MSG 0079: Eastern Raid_

_A Mobile Suit Gundam Side-Story_

_Produced by Ninja-Pirate Studios_

_Written by GM Ace_

Author's Intro: Welcome to GM Ace's first real Gundam fanfiction! I hope you are pleased with it, as it is my first. Also, this story is written to celebrate the one year anniversary of the creation of The Ace List, my Gundam UC C2, the first Gundam UC C2 ever created and still one of only two C2s in existence. I'll see you after the story.

Chapter 1: The Waiting Game

Weymouth, Massachusetts, North America

December 24th, 0079 UC

1923 hours local time

The brown haired man was pretty short, maybe five and a half feet, and almost ridiculously skinny. His eyes were concealed by a pair of sunglasses (though no one could tell, his eyes were green), and he stayed by himself in a corner with his back to the wall, talking to none of the other patrons. While not exactly threatening or particularly suspicious, he was still . . . different. But to the waitresses at the local food joint, all that mattered was this customer, who'd been coming here regularly for the past month and a half, was polite, tipped well, and didn't cause any trouble, even with the Zeon soldiers that came here when they were on leave. Although the Zeeks based at the Fore River Base where a decent sort, the locals lived in the Greater Boston Area, and Bostonians were known for their independence . . . and the volatile way they often defended that independence. Every once in a while a fight would break out, and there were still rumors of a resistance movement based somewhere in Boston itself. But there where no such worries about trouble from this quiet fellow. The waitress on duty delivered his usual (a Philadelphia cheese-steak with a side of fries and Coca-Cola) and walked back to the kitchen, looking over her shoulder and wondering what the strange man was always thinking about in that corner.

Brian Terracciano squirted some Ketchup on his fries and munched on them silently, his eyes certainly _not_ flickering sideways to look at the three Zeon navy pukes who were sharing some beers for their off-duty time. Nevertheless, he was acutely aware of them; he wasn't a Lieutenant in the Earth Federation Army's Special Forces for nothing, after all. He had been stuck in this freezing pisshole of a town for a little more than two months, waiting and watching to bide his time while he waited for his orders to move come in. Well, perhaps he was being unfair. Weymouth and the surrounding towns and cities were nice places, all in all, with a lot of history, and while he hadn't been there yet he'd heard Boston was pretty nice as well. The problem was that, first of all, that any length of time spent _waiting_ for orders tended to grind on his nerves, and second of all those nice towns and cities were in the region still referred to as New England. The weather _sucks _in New England; unpredictable as anything, and very cold during the winters, and the after-effects of Operation British didn't help. It was freezing outside, and there were still several inches of snow on the sidewalks from the Nor'easter that had ambushed the area three weeks ago, never mind the massive mountains of the stuff piled here and there after being taken off the streets. To Brian, who had been born on Luna, the only phrase that described the place was 'some sort of icy hell'. Supposedly the locals didn't mind it that much, having gotten used to it. Brian had a hard time believing it, just as he was hard pressed to believe there were places _colder_ than this on Earth. But that was neither here nor there.

As he took a sip of his Coke, Brian let his mind wander down the well-worn path that analyzed the current situation. The Federation had kicked Zeon's ass at Odessa, had retaken the California Base ten days ago, and was generally on top everywhere on the planet. But although the war had begun in space, and it was going well (word had come down this morning that Solomon was going under), parts of the Earth still lay in Zeon hands, and that was problematic. Australia was still in contention(1), and parts of North America and Africa were still holding out. Plus, there had been some nasty business lately at the Federation's arctic base(2). Finishing the job on Earth was crucial. One must set one's own house in order, after all, before dealing with other problems. And so one Lt. Brian Terracciano found himself staking out the Zeon Fore River Base in preparation for Operation 2004, to help take back the Eastern coast of North America.

The main target of Operation 2004 was the Logan Base in Boston, which consisted of the enlarged and now militarized Logan Airport, parts of Boston Harbor and its facilities, and sections of the city which had been evacuated and walled off to form a buffer zone for the base. The forces there consisted of two Gaws, several flight groups of Dopps and other such assorted aircraft, several Zeon submarines, captured Federal cruisers put to use by the Zeeks, and several squads of mobile suits supplemented by Magella Attack tanks and mechanized infantry. The mobile suits consisted of several Goggs, Zaku Is and IIs, a Gouf here and there, and _maybe_ one or two of the skirted Doms, but Intel was, as always, 'unsure' about that. There were also some hints of new models being shipped here from Pezun shortly before Logan got cut off, but once again there was no confirmation. The Federation had assembled most of its remaining Atlantic navy, as well as forces from around the world (except the Pacific navy; _those_ poor bastards had been hit hard enough and had been ensconced within their harbors for a while now(3)), to form a naval task force to hit Logan from the sea, while several different mobile suit, tank, and air forces would hit them from inland, reinforced by a Special Forces Combined Arms task force that would arrive as soon as their new mobile suits were developed at California Base. But it would still be a hard fight, even if the Logan Zeeks didn't have any help, which is why Brian was in his current position.

The Fore River Shipyard had once been a boon to the ancient United States during World War II in building warships, but had fallen out of military use after that conflict. The Yard continued to host civilian shipping and ferry services into Boston for decades, but no ships were built there and no military forces posted there aside from the old USS _Salem_, which was no more than a museum. The _Salem_ was now gone, and the civilian work mostly stopped, because ten years ago the Federation decided it needed some more military presence in the Atlantic to complement the California Base. So, the Shipyard was turned into the Fore River Base, home of a small squadron of cruisers and a small building facility capable of spitting out another cruiser now and then. When the Zeeks moved in, they saw no reason not to maintain the Base as a kind of secondary outpost of Logan, and stationed some mobile suits, a single _Jukon_-class sub, and two captured Federal cruisers there. But the base had never been very secure; it only had a chain-link fence and guards to keep people out. Against an assault by tanks, never mind mobile suits, the base's personnel would have very little to protect them. So, the base commander was considering doing the bug-out boogie, loading the entire base's force on either his ships or in trucks, and bringing them to the Logan Base to reinforce them. And that just wouldn't do. So it had been decided that the Fore River Base would have to be neutralized. However, it also wouldn't do to expose the Federation's mobile suit forces in the region (already thin due to the need for soldiers in space) to any unnecessary danger, so it was up to Spec Ops to pull it off.

Brian, finishing his meal, dropping the necessary money and a generous tip on the tip, and leaving the food joint, thought it was all rather pointless. No matter what happened, the Zeeks here were screwed. Even if some disaster happened and Zeon reconquered Earth, there was pretty much no chance that the Zeeks stationed on the East coast would be rescued in time. And since there were no longer any H.L.V. bases in range, there was no where that the spacenoids could try to escape to with any reasonable hope of success. It would make everything easier for everyone if the damn fools just surrendered. But maybe that was the point; surrendering would make life easier for the Feddies, and it appeared as if the Zeek commanders were biologically incapable of doing that. So, the hard way it was.

Brian traipsed his way back up Route 3A, away from the Base and the Fore River Bridge which led to Quincy. He 'owned' a small place on a quiet side street that never had anything exciting happen on it, and he made his living by 'computer programming'. In reality, the house's real owner was currently in Federation custody, being compensated for his trouble, and Brian actually spent his time hacking Zeon databases and contacting his control and spies within the Base. It was lonely, but there it was. Usually, there wasn't much to do. He had most of the relevant info about his target, the spies in the base had nothing more useful to say and were left waiting for the operation just like him, and his control kept telling him that the right time had yet to arrive. But today, when he sat down at his computer and went through the ten different levels of security and anti-hacking software to reach his control, the message that would start the ball rolling was waiting for him. He leapt out of his seat, barely containing a cheer. The message read: "Commence Operation 2004 sub-mission: Operation 1918". It was finally time to start fighting again.

Author Notes:

(1) This is a reference to the exploits of the White Dingos and their comrades in Australia

(2) A reference to War in the Pocket

(3)A reference to Zinegata's MSG 0079 Side Story: The Forgotten Fleet and the battles that the Pacific fleet fight in it. Check out the story, it's great!


	2. Time to Start the Real Game

_Eastern Raid_

_A Mobile Suit Gundam Side-Story_

_Produced by Ninja-Pirate Studios_

_Written by GM Ace_

Chapter 2: Time to Start the _Real_ Game

Quincy, Massachusetts, North America

December 24th, UC 0079

2300 hours local time

A lone Zeek in a disheveled uniform stumbled over the sidewalk, apparently drunk from celebrating Christmas Eve, heading towards the main gate to the Fore River Base. One of the guards in the small building there nodded to his partners and went outside. They'd been dealing with these guys all night, although the last one had come in a little over an hour ago, just barely making the curfew. _This_ particular idiot, the guard thought, was going to be totally screwed over by the base commander. The guard held up a hand and asked for the shaky drunk to stop.

"Alright, soldier, where's you're ID, huh?" he asked, his voice tinged with humor at the soldier's condition

"Ish rate here, shurrrrr . . ." the disgraceful soldier slurred out, his voice barely understandable. He reached into his overcoat slowly, apparently reaching for his ID. But then his arm whipped out towards the guard. Strangely enough, the soldier didn't seem shaky or drunk anymore. In fact, his eyes and hand were rock steady as he pulled the trigger of his silenced pistol and put a single round straight between the guard's eyes.

Brian, who had crossed over the Fore River Bridge hours ago in order to do this, stepped over the body toward and walked into the guardhouse, where a second guard was still writhing on the ground, a combat knife stuck in his back. Apparently he had seen what happened, and had been going for the alarm when the third guard knifed him. The third guard just happened to be Sergeant Michael Siberry, a member of the Federation's 4th Special Forces Infiltration Team, the same team as Brian. He'd been in place months longer than Brian had.

"So Brian, old buddy of mine, how you been? Has business been good? How're the folks? Have you been eating well? Look at you, you scrawny little bastard, have you even eaten in the past month? I swear, soon as we're done with this I'm taking you out to a buffet, there's this nice little place just a few-"

"Easy there Mikey," murmured Brian. Michael was a good friend and a great soldier, but a bit too talkative for someone in the business of sneaking around. Not that he ever gave anything away; he just didn't stop blathering on about nothing. One had to take a firm stance with him, or one would be stuck talking for hours. "Look, it's been awhile, I know, but we need to get to business already."

"Aw, alright, fine."

"Alright, now, is everything on your end ready? And what about support?"

"Of course everything is ready. Callie and Darryl took care of all the cameras and managed to get slotted in as the hangar guards, although there's still one more we'll have to kill. Plus, the suit is fully prepped. And as for support, have you heard of the 2nd Combined Arms Force?"

"Aren't those guys the Special Forces group that'll supplement the assault on Logan?"

"Yup, the same. Though their mobile suits haven't all made it here yet, most of their other forces _are _here, and some of them will be dropping in to play a few minutes after we get the game started. Plus, the fleet's gonna provide a force to intercept any planes that Logan send our way to check things out."

"Wow, air support? That's rare. Well, let's get going, huh?"

"Yeah, let's."

Michael slung his Zeon-issue submachine gun over his shoulder and Brian pocketed his pistol, and the two left the guardhouse and the bodies behind as they headed into the base. There were no worries; the next watch wasn't due till two oh-my-god-it-is-too-damn-early-hundred hours. The base was ridiculously quiet as the two Feddies-in-disguise made their way to through the base heading for one of the mobile suit hangars. There was nobody up and about in the cold night, and there was very little to light their way except for the moon. Brian kept his hand on his pistol; after all the waiting, the fact that he was finally getting to work and the quiet were making him nervous. It didn't help that he couldn't stop remembering that his last experiences in combat had been months ago, and that only he and Mike had survived the near annihilation of the 4th Infiltration Team.

Finally, blessedly, the two reached the hangar they wanted, and met Cassie and Darryl, the other two members of the team. Darryl was the mechanics expert, and had gotten the suit data out to the rest of the Federation for Brian's use in training, while Cassie was a computers girl, responsible for creating the team's Zeon identities and taking out the security systems. Brian didn't know Cassie and Darryl all that well, as he had barely met them before they departed for the mission, but they seemed competent enough, although they looked awful young to the thirty year old veteran. The third guard, the only real Zeek present, meandered over.

"Hey you," he said to Brian, "you a friend of Craig here?" gesturing to Michael. "Or maybe you're one of Justin's gambling victims come to pay a debt, or _maybe_ you're a, shall we say, acquaintance, of the lovely Esther? 'Cause other than that I don't a reason for you to be here," he finished, gripping his gun.

"Aw, don't be such a prick Kenneth!" berated Carrie. "He's a friend of mine, okay, and he's thinking of training for suits. And he's _just _a friend, alright? Christ, is your mind _always_ in the gutter?"

"Alright, alright, Esther, take it down a notch," the guard replied with a smile.

"So," the guard said, turning back to Brian, "What's your-"

That was as far as the guard got before Brian pulled out his pistol again and put the next two rounds in the gun straight through the man's heart. The look on the bastard's face was frightful as he fell backwards to the ground; a combination of shock, pain, and the horrible realization that he was quite mortal and that the consequences of that had come upon him. But what actually caused Brian to be scared was that the guard's hands clamped shut out of reflex. . . pulling the trigger of the gun he was still holding. It was only a short, three-round burst that went straight into the ground, but the noise it caused seemed cacophonous. The team froze as Kenneth twitched for a few seconds.

"Oh . . . shit," Brian murmured. "Let's go! Move!"

As one the rest of the team shouldered their weapons and followed Brian as he ran towards the three suits in the hangar, two MSM-03 Goggs and a single MSM-04 Acguy. The plan was for Brian to steal the Acguy, tear the shit out of the base, and then escape. Since half the force for Operation 2004 would be from the sea, it had been decided to take an MSM, since it could later be used to defend the fleet. The Logan naval units, like their airborne brethren, had so far refrained from attacking the fleet several miles off the coast, but that wouldn't last forever, and what better way to counter the Zeon MSMs but with another one of their MSMs? Brian had been training in simulators, made from data retrieved by Darryl and others around the world, to prepare for this. Which made what happened as the four ran towards the Acguy even worse.

A Zeon officer ran up to the hangar entrance, saw the dead Kenneth and the running soldiers, and quickly deduced what was going on. So he didn't even yell for the team to surrender before drawing his pistol and opening fire. With a scream, Darryl went down with a bullet in his lower back. Everything slowed down for Brian just then. Carrie screamed Darryl's name, dropping next to him, her hands fluttering over the wound in a panic. Michael whirled about with his face twisted into a snarl, and opened up on the officer with his gun on full automatic. The officer tumbled backwards, his blood spraying across the snow to join Kenneth's. The base's alarms howled as someone else heard the gunfire. And Michael turned to him and screamed at him to go. Finally, the world sped back up, and he ran to the elevator as Michael dropped next to Darryl and started trying to patch him up as the team's best medic, yelling for Carrie to cover him. She did; the two guards who came into view next didn't even get to raise their guns before they too joined the growing number of bodies at the hangar entrance.

Meanwhile, Brian had a hopped into the cockpit, sealed it up, and started up the suit. He went through a crash check of all systems. Fully fueled, machine guns in the head fully loaded, three rounds in all six tubes in the left arm missile launcher, fifteen shots in the right arm mega-particle cannon, right arm claws fully functional, reactors both at 100. That done, Brian took a deep breath and gripped the controls. This was going to be his first time piloting a mobile suit for real, and the last time he had been in combat with mobile suits involved he had been fighting against them. Plenty to worry about, but no time to do the worrying in. Alright, turn on the screens. It looked like Carrie and Michael had dragged Darryl over to where the rest of the bodies were, and were confronting a group of soldiers. Brian saw Michael gesturing wildly towards the Acguy and smiled. It appeared that his friend was passing the three Feddies off as Zeek guards who had responded to the fire but had been too late to stop the dastardly Feddie from getting in the suit. So, when Brian put some pressure on a foot pedal and eased the MSM out of its berth, the soldiers ran for their lives, with Carrie and Michael picking up the stabilized Darryl and stumbling away.

The original plan had been for the three of them to be gone by the time Brian started his rampage. Now that the plan was basically out the window, Brian no longer wanted to follow it. The plan had been that he would direct his damage towards the other MS hangar before the Zeek pilots could reach it, and that was the direction his three comrades had to go in order to escape. So, it was time for a change in plan. But, Brian thought, that didn't mean he couldn't at least complete the first part of the plan as scheduled. He turned his new suit around to face the two Goggs, still parked and totally defenseless. . .

Private Mark F. Rounds, Zeon Earth Attack Force, 3rd Terrestrial Mobile Division, 2434th Mobile Suit Team, practically fell out of bed as the base alarms began to howl. Like the other soldiers in the barracks, including his two fellow 2434th pilots, he was throwing on a uniform, overcoat, and a gun belt before he even thought about it. Surprise had gripped his brain, but such a paltry thing as mere surprise couldn't override military training that easily. Mark ran out the door of his barracks, his commander and fellow pilot with him, and started running towards their MS hangar. The regular soldiers ran towards defense posts and armories, while the three pilots of the 35th "Leviathans" Amphibious Mobile Suit Team headed for their own hangar. Mark had no idea what was going on, but he could hear gunfire echoing from somewhere in the base.

Mark was a rookie in every sense of the word. He had barely completed his training a month and a half ago before he had been stationed here, only a few days before the base's supply lines started to get cut off. He had never fought in anything other than war-games and simulations. His scores in training had been good, no doubt, but he still had no experience. And his suit didn't help bolster his confidence much. The MS-05B Zaku I had been the forerunner of the Zeon Military Forces as they now existed, but they were horribly out of date. And for a new unit like the 2434th, they were the only thing available. Mark and Sergeant Fewkes would kill to have anything else, even a regular MS-06J, but Lt. Glicklich actually seemed to like the thing, seeing as how he had used it back during the first battles of the ground war. But still, while he had more experience than either the Sarge or Mark, it only had been against Type 61 tanks. Which, as it turned out, were not what they were facing here tonight.

An explosion suddenly ripped through the side of the MSM hangar, and a single Gogg was hurled straight through the hangar wall moments later. Out of the gaping hole stomped the team's Acguy, its mono-eye flashing as it stepped over its prey and fired its mega-particle cannon straight into the fallen suit at point blank range. But even that explosion was dwarfed when the Acguy turned around and fired six rockets right back into the hangar. Apparently they hit the Gogg torpedo and Acguy rocket storage areas, because the entire hangar went up in an explosion that knocked Mark and many others flat.

"What the hell is going on?" screamed the private at Lt. Glicklich as they picked themselves up off the ground and the Acguy stomped away from the burning hangar, turning its cannon on the _Harvard_, one of the cruisers. The Lieutenant didn't get a chance to answer before the base commander came over the facility-wide intercom:

"All base personnel, all base personnel! This is the commander! A Federal Forces agent has stolen the Acguy! Rally yourselves and destroy it, I repeat, destroy it! Help is on the way from Logan!" Mark's commander grimaced.

"You heard the man, Mark! Let's move!"

Mike ran after him and the sergeant as they dashed towards their own mobile suits, as the ammo aboard the _Harvard _cooked off, destroying the cruiser with all hands and nearly knocking Mike flat again.

"_This is one hell of a way to wake up,"_ the young Zeon private thought to himself.

"_Now THIS is one hell of a way to fight!" _thought Brian as the first ex-Federal cruiser blew up in front of him. "How the hell do _you_ guys like it?" he screamed as he raked several barracks with the machine guns mounted in the Acguy's head. The wooden buildings were torn apart, and the men inside of them suffered the same fate. A handful of infantry that had weapons futilely fired at his suit, but with only submachine guns they didn't stand a chance. Brian turned to face the _Yukon_-class sub at the next berth over from the now destroyed cruiser. Two beam blasts tore into it, and the fragile sub snapped in two and began to sink. That left him with twelve rockets and eight more shots with the cannon; three had been for the cruiser and one each for the Goggs. "Alright, I should have given enough time for the others to get out of my way. Time to deal with the mobile suits." He turned the suit around back the way he had come, firing the machine guns at any juicy targets he saw along the way. But just as he brought the Acguy around, his sensors screamed and he ducked as a 280mm Zaku bazooka round came at him. It missed the Acguy's head by no more than a few feet, flew over the base, and finally impacted on the Fore River Bridge.

The Zaku I that had fired at him stood just outside the entrance to its hangar, bringing his bazooka down to fire another shot. But apparently he had frozen in horror or something for just a second; the Zeeks were under strict orders not to cause damage to civilian property so as to avoid problems, and there was no way anybody could use that bridge anymore. Whatever had slowed him down it gave Brian enough time to bring his cannon to bear. One shot missed as the Zaku sidestepped. Cursing, Brian clamped down on the trigger. Two more shots were fired, and this time the Zaku didn't make it. The first blast tore its left arm right off, and the second hit the bazooka's magazine. The three 280mm rounds still within cooked off, and the resulting explosion tore into the mobile suit, killing the pilot and sending the machine tumbling to the ground in flames.

"Alright!" Brian yelled, "My first mobile suit kill! Everybody better watch out, 'cause I'm on a roll, and – holy shit!"

Brian's uncharacteristic cheering was abruptly interrupted by a stream of 120mm bullets tearing out of the hangar's entrance. A second Old Zaku stomped out, its machine gun at the ready, and charged him with guns blazing. This wasn't going to be so easy after all.

Mark cursed his poor luck. His Zaku's reactor had developed an anomaly, which kept his suit flat lined while the engineers tried to fix it. That meant he was stuck here in his suit while everything went to hell. The Sarge was already dead and the El-T had gone charging out of the hangar screaming bloody murder over the radio. The _Harvard_ and _Zabi Pride_ were already gone, the base had already been badly torn up, and the explosions from outside didn't sound too good. Finally, the head engineer stuck his head into the cockpit.

"Alright Mark, you're good to go."

"Thanks but get everybody out of the hangar and to safety. I'm gonna try something real crazy."

"Alright, sure, stay safe buddy."

The engineer left, and Mark directed his Zaku to shoulder its 120mm machine gun as the mobile suit crews ran for it. _"This had better work,"_ thought Mike. _"I just hope the El-T can hold out until I can pull it off."_

As it turned out, the El-T couldn't, although he did fight the brave fight. He had expended his machine gun and drawn his heat hawk to close to melee range, in the process making Brian expend another three shots from his mega-particle cannon. But finally, as the running battle brought the two suits to the berth of the final cruiser, Brian finished the fight. When the Zaku brandished its heat hawk and charged Brian didn't stand his ground or fall back. Instead, he moved _into _the enemy's attack, deploying his claws. The Zaku had raised its weapon over it head, and couldn't bring it down properly, while the Acguy brought its claws up in an uppercut. The claws connected solidly with the cockpit entrance, sending the Zaku up and flying backwards, to land _on top_ of the cruiser while its weapon flew off into the water. Retracting his claws, Brian brandished both arms, and fired both his last two mega-particle blasts and another six rockets. The destruction was immense, the immolated cruiser acting as a funeral pyre for the hapless Zaku.

Brian, panting heavily from the strain of jerking the heavy MSM back and forth, turned around to face the mobile suit hangar. He fired his machine guns again, taking out a group of soldiers that had been setting up an anti-tank missile launcher, and literally stepped on an armored truck that swerved into his path. He kept his left arm rocket launchers trained on the entrance of the hangar as he stomped towards it. _"Why didn't the last suit come out? I know it's in there, and if it doesn't come out I'll just blow the whole hangar down. And where the hell is the support that –aahhhh!"_

The wall of the hangar suddenly shattered as a Zaku I just charged right through it. It took aim with its machine gun, and Brian's rocket launchers weren't aimed anywhere close to the right place. The damn Zeek had duped him. As the first bullets were fired, Brian heaved his suit to the right, but finally made a mistake. He had tried to move too fast, and the Acguy was a suit built with water in mind, with only limited action on land. As such, it was clumsier than the average suit, and was made even clumsier in the hands of a rookie like Brian. The MSM literally tripped over its own two feet and came crashing down on its own face, but at least the bullets missed above and to the left. But the Zaku was shifting its aim quickly, so Brian lifted up his suit slightly with his left arm and aimed his rockets. The six rockets flew out of their launchers towards the enemy MS, but that wasn't good enough. The Zaku used its thrusters to do a short hop to the left, and the rockets missed it completely, instead finishing off the hangar. Steadying itself, the Zaku took aim yet again, and this time there was nothing Brian could do to stop it.


	3. Death From Above

_Eastern Raid_

_A Mobile Suit Gundam Side-Story_

_Produced by Ninja-Pirate Studios_

_Written by GM Ace_

Chapter 3: Death From Above

Off the coast of Massachusetts

December 24th, UC 0079

2321 hours local time

Staff Sergeant Ed "Sparks" Trainer, Earth Federation Special Forces, 1st Airborne Company, 2nd Combined Arms Force, scanned the horizon with his night vision goggles as his Fanfan hovercraft sped no more than ten feet over the cold Atlantic waters. Next to him was Senior Airman Therese Luce, his copilot and gunner, and arrayed behind his hovercraft were the nine other Fanfans of the 1st Airborne.

Sparks had been beating around this war since the beginning, or perhaps one should say flying. He had gotten caught up in the first fighting in Europe, and had even gone up against the 10th _Panzerkaempfer _. . . once. That had been . . . sometime after the 10th took Paris but before they got stopped by the remainder of the 4th Cav at the Garonne River. His flight group (he had been a Senior Airman himself back then) had been tasked to give cover to a company of Type 61s that were making a run for it. As it turned out, both the Fanfans and the 61s got waxed. Sparks' bird had been _barely_ clipped by a 120mm. It had gone down, hard, and Sparks had come away with a broken arm. His best friend and copilot, Ron Salett, hadn't come away from the crash at all. Sparks had teamed up with three survivors from the tanks (their ride had broken down halfway through the battle of its own accord and they had bailed; everyone who had actually fought was dead) and managed to evade capture and make it back to Federal territory. It had taken a few weeks to recover from that, both physically and mentally, but soon Sparks was back in the saddle and fighting again.

He hadn't gone up against the 10th again (thank God) but he'd spent some more time fighting in Europe, and then had been sent across the Atlantic to participate in the North American offensive. He'd even flown in the fight for California Base. Then, not a day and a half after California fell, his unit had been discharged from the Airforce, reinstated as a Special Forces unit, then shipped out here for one of the last operations to be had on North America. But before the big show started, the Special Forces MS had to arrive, and local supporting Zeon forces had to be taken out. Which was what had Sparks and the rest of the 1st Airborne buzzing over the sea on this fine night to support some Infiltration unit on a crazy mission to steal a MSM. _"Of course, we do have _some _help in this mess," _thought Sparks as he looked down out of his cockpit at the three vehicles zipping across the water below.

Corporal Terry Kardock of the 2nd C.A.F.'s "Hell's Angels" Experimental Assault Company bobbed his head to the music filling the interior of his vehicle. Dewar, his driver, was a big rock fan, and the rest of the crew didn't mind, although Kempe, the communications weenie, sometimes preferred Jazz. Usually Federal Special Forces units wouldn't dare to play loud music as they headed in on a covert op, since it's just generally a bad idea. But the unit was out on the water, where no one could hear them but friendlies, and the unit was highly unconventional anyways.

Kardock's ride was the experimental Type 75E Hovertank. As the GM and its brethren just weren't numerous enough to carry the burden of war themselves, the Federal forces still depended on more traditional units to plug the gaps. In the air, no problems; the Feddies had enough fighters and bombers to wreak havoc all over the place at this point. But on the ground the options were more limited. The stalwart Type 61 Main Battle Tank had been the primary force on the ground for the Federation, but had proved horribly obsolete. It just couldn't keep up with mobile suits, which would force a combined GM/61 force to go as slow as the tanks. In an attempt to speed up Federation task forces, the technical geeks warped the respected Type 74 Hovertruck. They'd made it slightly bigger with slightly better armor, stripped out the ground sonar gear, slightly increased the 20mm ammo, and added .50 cal machine guns from the 61s on the both sides and the rear. It also carried several anti-tank rockets in the hold for use by the crew. The result? A machine that could evade fire well, keep up with GMs, but didn't do a very good job at killing MS. It did fantastically against infantry and other lightly armored units, but mobile suits were the future, and if it couldn't kill mobile suits then it wasn't worth mass producing. But the ten units that were made were put together to form the Hell's Angels.

The Angels had been the first of the 2nd C.A.F. to arrive on the East coast, and they already had experienced combat together. A number of small Zeon groups, having nowhere else to run, had tried to make it to Logan. Some of them got whacked by the regular forces, some ended up surrendering, but others slipped by the Army. And two of these groups had run into the Angels. None of them had been in a surrendering mood, preferring death over dishonor, and the ten Hovertanks had obliged them. The units had been infantry only, so the Angels just charged in firing. The Type 61 machine guns were bad enough, but the 20mm was like a buzz saw from hell. Terry had been a Type 61 gunner before his transfer into the Team, which had some problems. One, being downgraded from two 150mm cannons to a single 20mm was kind of degrading. And two, blowing away an enemy tank or MS with those 150mm guns was a lot easier on the stomach (and produced much fewer nightmares) than tearing people apart with the 20mm. But he had his job. And not a single member of the unit had perished.

Terry was one of only two crewmembers in the hovertank that was previous service before the war, and the other was Kempe. Dewar, in the driver's seat, had been an amateur hovercar racer before he got drafted, which explained his current post. Kessler had been a teacher, of all things, before the war started and had served with distinction in an armored truck platoon, so she got handed the rear gun (arguably the second most important gun, since the 20mm couldn't cover the rear very well). Gahan, on the left, was just a kid who had been planning on college, and Penarubia on the right . . . well, he didn't talk much, so who knows? But they were all, by this point, experienced and more importantly trustworthy. Terry had learned the hard way what happened when you had a slimeball for a comrade.

Terry was . . . a kind of troublemaker before the war, getting in fights and getting caught dealing on the black market. He was too good to be kicked out, but still got kept down as a lowly Private. He'd been Private First Class a record eight times, and lost the stripe every time. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and with so many soldiers ending up dead, somebody had to fill their shoes. So Terry had ended up a Corporal in a Type 61 company. With some political type as his Tank Commander. The TC was _supposed_ to be a strong, confident person who was also smart at the arts of war. But Terry's TC was a total friggin' prick. He nearly got the entire tank blown up in two battles with Magellas thanks to his idiocy, and the first time the unit engaged mobile suits he had actually bailed out of the tank and tried to run for it. Terry and the driver were on their own, and managed to kill a suit by themselves, without the loser's help. Mercifully, the TC never had to face disciplinary action for his deed; the first shots from a Zaku gun went _over_ Terry's tank and blew the bastard straight to the hell he deserved. Terry was now the gunner and commander of Type 75E Hovertank Unit 03, third in command of the entire Company. Times sure had changed.

Something onshore caught his eye. He keyed his radio (there were no Minovsky particles about, so Kempe's laser equipment wasn't needed yet) and called the lead Fanfan.

_"This is 75 Omega 3 actual to Razorbird One, come in Razorbird One, come in Razorbird."_

_"This is Razorbird One actual," replied the gruff voice of 'Sparks'. "What's up Omega 3?"_

_"Those look like explosions to you, Razorbird?"_

Sparks trained his eyes on the distant shore, just in time to see another flash of fire. _"Seems to be, Omega. You think our boy got started early?"_

_"That's the only thing that makes sense. He must've gotten found out after he grabbed the suit. If he got found out before he did, there wouldn't be much fighting going on. I think we should go with Plan Flashfire."_

Sparks cursed to himself. Flashfire called for the Fanfans to rush on ahead of the slower Type 75s and engage the enemy to cover the SpecOps MS pilot. It was meant to basically save the pilot's ass if things got out of hand, which apparently they had, but it was more dangerous for the Fanfans. The 'copters could blow the hell out of the base, but they were still vulnerable to fire, even small arms. The original plan called for the 75s to maul the infantry to keep the Fanfans safe, but Flashfire had the 75s arriving _after_ the Fanfans. Sparks knew he was going to lose people, but he had his duty, and so did his people.

_"Roger that, Omega 3,"_ he said grimly. _"Just make sure you haul ass, boy."_

_"We will, Razorbird, we will. Good luck, and give the Zeek bastards hell. We'll be right behind you."_

With that, the line cut off, and the Fanfans raced ahead of the 75s to face the enemy.

_Fore River Base_

Mark was one part enraged and one part elated. On the one hand, the base had been torn up, scores of troopers were dead, the two cruisers and the sub were gone, and both the Lieutenant and Sergeant Fewkes were dead. On the other, his tactic had worked, and he had the rogue Acguy dead-to-rights. He might catch some shit later for trashing the hangar, but he didn't really care (after all, the Acguy had finished the building off, hadn't it?). The ally-turned-enemy MS was helpless, so Mike took his time, advancing on it while keeping his gun locked on. But he was reluctant to kill someone so helpless. He keyed the speakers.

"You know, Feddie, I learned as a kid not to kick a man when he's down. Seems you're down. So why don't you hop out of there?"

"Screw you spacenoid!" came the answer. The Feddie sounded terrified, but there was a trace of determination in the hysteria. If anyone had asked Brian, he would have answered, 'Why yes, I was almost crapping my pants in fear, thank you.' But he wasn't going to tell the Zeek that, even if the guy asked him! Mike grimaced in his suit, then spoke again, hardening his voice and removing any sign of mercy.

"Feddie, listen up. You've killed my team and who knows how many of my comrades. I am really pissed off right now, so get out, surrender, or I WILL blow you up! Do you understand!"

The Fanfans roared towards the shore. No doubt they had been picked up by Logan's radar, but that was being handled by TIN Cods and Saberfish fighters. _Fore River's _radar should have picked them up, but fate was in their favor. Several of Brian's 105mm shots that he'd sprayed around the base had hit the radar station, killing everyone on the shift, and nobody had bothered to check if the radar was still operational. So Mark had no one to warn him of the incoming bogies.

Sparks hit his radio, turning it to the unit channel.

_"This is Razorbird One to all Razorbirds, follow me in. Stay low so anyone who's there to shoot at you has less time for it, hit your targets as best as you can, and get out of here just as fast as we're going in. No heroics, got that?"_

He listened intently as Razorbirds Two through Ten answered in the affirmative then nodded to Therese to arm the guns.

_"Alright Razorbirds, let's go!"_

The Fanfans rushed in, following their leader. Staying low as ordered, they swooped under the Fore River Bridge with barely enough room on any side. Sparks could see that a large chunk of the bridge had been blown away. _"I wonder how THAT happened,"_ he mused to himself. When he got a good look at the base, he understood why. Both MS hangars were in flames, the entire naval contingent of the base was gone, and numerous buildings and vehicles (including the radar station, he noted) had been blasted apart. All in all, it seemed this SpecOp guy knew his business. But then he saw the problem.

The Acguy was down, and looming over it was an Old Zaku, its rifle at the ready. Swearing, Sparks dove his Fanfan towards the Zaku as he heard the Zaku's speakers yell.

"Fine, you idiot! Go to hell!"

The Zaku was about to fire, and the Acguy was nearly out of time.

"Therese!" Sparks yelled. "Nail that Zeek! Try to disable his gun!"

Mark's patience was gone. The Feddie had told him, in a still-shaky voice, that he should go and drown himself in the river. So he told the stupid pilot to go to hell and pulled the trigger . . . only to yell in shock as his gun, instead of firing, blew apart when a rocket hit it.

"What the hell is this?" he yelled as the remains of the gun fell from his machine's hands. Then a Fanfan, a Feddie helicopter, buzzed right by his Zaku's head, firing the rest of its missiles at the base. It was so close he could see the crew's names - Staff Sergeant Ed "Sparks" Trainer and Senior Airman Therese Luce – painted on the side. He could even see the pilot giving him the finger! Snarling, Mark turned his Zaku to face the direction the Fanfan had come from, drawing his heat hawk. The damn Feddie MSM pilot had back-up. Nine more Fanfans roared almost straight into Mark's face it seemed, but most of them flew over and around him, scrambling to get at the vulnerable base. One dove for him, disobeying the order for 'no heroics' (which, ironically, Sparks himself had broken). Mark dodged the two missiles it launched, and then swung his heat hawk like a bat. It sliced off one of the ship's fans, and it spun like a top as it carried it screaming crew down to the ground for an explosive death. Mark noted that he'd made his first kill, but didn't care. He turned his suit around and gasped.

The base was in flames. Another Fanfan had been shot down by a storm of fire from infantry forces, but even it had gotten off four missiles. Combined with the surviving Fanfans and the two missiles from Mark's kill (which he realized now had smashed into the base because he dodged), a total of _85 _missiles had hit the base. The armory, where many of the base's soldiers were, had been hit. It had blown a massive crater in the ground when it went, killing many more of Mike's comrades. That was enough to fill Mark with a sense of despair. But the despair turned to rage as he saw the Acguy, back on its feet, running towards the water. Raising his heat hawk, he used his thrusters to boost after his enemy.

"Come back here you murderer!"

_Author's Notes:_

_Can you spot the reference to His Divine Shadow's_ In Vain Doth Valour Bleed? _It's easy to find, you'll get a cookie if you do! And while you munch on your cookie, go read his work. It's much better than mine._

_The 75E, my first attempt at an original design, started off as a Federation attempt to replace the Type 61 MBT. It included increased armor, rockets on the side, and even a small mortar. However, during its development I reread Zinegata's old version of_ Warriors in the Shadows, _and realized I'd accidently made something a little like his Type 82. An accident, yes, and the likeness was more in the machine's purpose than design, but I felt it would be better if I changed the 75E to make it more unique._


	4. SNAFU

_Eastern Raid_

_A Mobile Suit Gundam Side-Story_

_Produced by Ninja-Pirate Studios_

_Written by GM Ace_

Chapter 4: SNAFU

Fore River Base

December 24th, UC 0079

2347 hours local time

_"Thank God for Fanfans!" _thought Brian as he practically had his suit scampering away from the Zaku who had almost been his killer. _"When I get back to the ship I'll buy 'em all a drink, screw regulations!"_ Brian figured that if he could make it to the water he could ambush the Zaku from there or just make an escape if necessary. Escaping would technically leave the job unfinished, but one Zaku with no supplies short of Logan wouldn't be much of a threat, now would it?

However, it seemed the Zaku had a thing or two to say about being a non-threat. Alarms screamed in the Acguy's cockpit and Brian turned the machine around to find his monitor quickly filling up with a flying, raging Zaku. With a shout Brian brought up the Acguy's arms to try to block the shoulder bash the Zeke was attempting. The Old Zaku didn't have shoulder spikes, which was a blessing, but the speed at which the MS hit shoved the Acguy backwards, the MSM's feet digging trenches into the ground as it dug in. If he hadn't taken a defensive position Brian would have found himself on the ground again, this time with no help. Still, he had to act fast as the Zaku finally touched down after basically bouncing off the Acguy's arms, and whipped its heat hawk around to bisect the MSM.

Deploying his claws again Brian reacted instinctively and went on the defensive, actually catching the attacking Zaku's arm. For a second the two suit's struggled over the arm in question before Brain tried to take the initiative. He swung his suit's other arm right at the enemy's cockpit, trying hard to hold the Zaku in place. Since the arm had no claws it would be more of a club and probably wouldn't kill the pilot. But it might knock him out and would most likely smash monitors and controls in the cockpit, putting the suit out of action. And it should have worked . . . if the Zaku didn't catch the end of the Acguy's arm in _the palm of it's hand._

"What?" Brain yelled as he pulled the arm back and swung at a different angle, only to have the same thing happen. "Who the hell is this guy?"

Mark felt sweat running down his forehead as the Acguy took swing after swing at him, and he blocked every one almost before it started. He wasn't even thinking about it, just moving on instinct. He knew that he should have been beaten by now; he had talent, he knew that from training, but raw talent shouldn't be able to keep him in this fight by itself. Whatever, he wasn't going to overlook the fact that his opponent must be a terrible pilot. But he needed to find an opening . . . there!

Instead of catching the next punch Mark practically slapped it to the side, sparks flying as it grazed his suit's arm. In a smooth motion more reminiscent of human martial arts than standard mobile suit combat, the Zaku folded its hand into a fist just as it knocked the attack aside and drove the fist into the Acguy's head. The rogue MSM stumbled back from the blow, finally losing its grip in the Zaku's heat hawk-wielding arm. Without losing a moment Mark swung the heat hawk at the Acguy, which barely managed to step back in time to avoid destruction. Still, sparks flew as the heat hawk grazed the suit's torso and left a black scorch mark just above the cockpit. Screaming with the strength of an adrenaline rush, Mark charged towards his now on-the-defensive opponent

"How is this possible?" yelled Brian to his suit as the Zaku rushed him, swinging the heat heat hawk and aiming punches like a madman. He'd _had_ that Zeke, he knew it! He'd had the spacenoid bastard dead-to-rights! Brian was willing to admit he was not the best of pilots, but nobody should've been able to block all those attacks and turn the tables so quickly! Brian was forced to stumble backwards again and again, doing his best to block the Zaku's bloodthirsty assault. Several times the Zaku managed to slip a punch in, but thankfully they didn't cause much damage and the heat hawk wasn't connecting. Brian was grateful that his monoeye wasn't damaged, despite the fact that he was pretty sure the glass covering it had shattered from that first punch. Caught up in the desperate fight and trying to find a way to strike back, he didn't notice the arrival of the 75E Hovertanks zipping over the water underneath the bridge.

* * *

Terry checked his body armor one last time and then hit a button, starting the barrel to rotate so he could fire at the slightest pressure on the trigger.

"Okay lads and lasses," he said over the unit frequency, "let's do this thing. Time for us to go into Hell; just make sure you fly out of it, alright? Shoot fast and straight, give the Fanfans cover as they run for it, and then book it for the fleet. Let's rock!"

The three Hovertanks shot underneath the bridge to see why the sky was tinged with orange: most of the base was on fire, either from the Acguy shredding it from within or from the 1st Airborne letting loose. Terry could see the Acguy getting wailed on by an Old Zaku, but there was no point getting involved in that fight, he and Omega 7 and 5 would most likely just get stepped on trying to help. He gave Dewar the proper orders, and Omega 3 turned toward the shore and went up on the land with the other two units following it. As the Hovertank entered the base Terry hunkered down behind his gun, and none too soon. A lone Zeon soldier clutching a submachine gun but without any jacket or shirt, rushed out from behind a building apparently focused on running away from the MS battle. He skidded to a stop as he caught sight of the Hovertank, his brain taking a second to recognize the vehicle as Federation, and started to raise his gun. Terry never gave him a chance. The gunner just barely squeezed the trigger to send three rounds from his weapon. The Zeke's torso just . . . exploded. That was that. One second a living, breathing person and the next a pile of flesh that hit the ground half a second before the Hovertank goes over him. But Terry didn't have time to dwell on it; he barely had a few seconds before the Hovertank hit real resistance.

Suddenly, Zekes were _everywhere._ Some had weapons, some didn't. Some were running towards the MS battle, some were running away. They were all targets. Terry opened up, cutting down a group of rocket wielders on their way to helping the Zaku. As he turned his gun to hit a machine gun nest someone had dutifully occupied, he could hear Kessler, Gahan, and Penarubia tearing into the base on their own terms. He half-flinched as an enemy bullet pinged off of the tank maybe ten centimeters from him but merely turned his gun and used it like a hose to wash away the base defenders. Suddenly, the Fanfans were overhead so close he felt like he could touch them as they made a run for open ocean and safety. Chasing after one of them were two armored cars, the machines guns on top filling the sky with gunfire trying to shoot down the Federal pilots. Quickly, Terry turned and fired on the one in the rear. The car may have been armored, but not against the bullets the twenty mike-mike brought to the table. The armor buckled as the bullets punched through and ripped apart the inhabitants. The driver took a hit and the car swerved out of control, quickly rolling over and slamming into a building, black smoke coming from under the hood. Terry was about to turn his aim to the next car when Kempe burst out of hatch with a rocket launcher on his shoulder. He took less than a moment to aim and then fired, scoring a dead hit. The anti-tank weapon would have punched through a Magella Attack or Type 61 the long way; what it did to the thin-skinned armored car was more akin to popping a balloon than destroying a vehicle.

"And you gunners think the communications tech never does anything useful!" yelled Kempe to Terry before jumping back down the hatch. Terry just smirked and turned back to his work, noting that in his moment of distraction as Kempe's rocket went by his head that Dewar had seen fit to run over a few people, the last of them bouncing off the tank's front just as Terry turned around. The gunner just pulled the trigger again, this time taking out a man with a grenade launcher before the Zeke could trash the Hovertank.

* * *

While Terry and the other crewmembers of Omega Three took out the armored cars, Omega Five and Seven had each gone off on their own separate path as per the plan so as to spread out the destruction the Angel's could cause. The gunners of Seven were joking with each other as they ripped through a section of the base near the mess hall.

"God, it's like shooting fish in a barrel, isn't it fellas?" yelled the twenty mike-mike gunner.

"_No problema_, man. These _asnos_(1) couldn't hit the side of a colony!" yelled back the rear gunner as he drilled an already wounded Zeke through the chest.

"Hell yeah, you got that – holy shit!" The runner gunner turned around to see a Zeke land _on the tank_ after jumping off a roof. The spacenoid's knees almost buckled, but he came up in a crouch, and the gunner saw the glint of a knife.

* * *

Back in Omega 3, Kempe bent over his equipment, pressing his headphones into his head as he yelled for the guy on the other side of the line to repeat his message. Again, the voice cut through the static:

"_I repeat, this is Alpha-Red-Seven-Zero-Nine to Seventy-Five-Omega-Three, authentication code Four-Two-One-Three-Seven, 'Remember the _Nereid',_ over!_"(2) Kempe's mind raced until he realized that Alpha-Red was the callsign for the SpecOps team sent to steal the Acguy.

"_Code accepted Alpha-Red, what is your situation, over?"_

"_I've got a man wounded here, Omega 3, and it's too dangerous to move him anymore. We're hunkered down near the bridge, we even saw you arrive, and we need immediate evac!"_

"_We're on our way Alpha-Red, just hold on a little longer! Omega Three, out."_

Kempe yanked his headphones off and yelled at Dewar to bring them back around for the bridge. Terry, of course, noticed the change in course and screamed for an explanation, and Kempe gave it to him.

"Damn. Dewar, do as Kempe said. Kempe, get on the line to Five and Seven and tell them to pull out. See if you can't get to that Acguy too, 'cause he's gonna be as naked as the day he was born once we're gone," Terry ordered with a grim look.

"Yes sir," replied Kempe, putting his headphones back on, praying that no Minovsky particles were out and about yet. Laser communications might not work with all the wreckage around them. "SNAFU, huh sir?"

"Yeah, I guess so," yelled Terry with a dry smile, turning back to his gun. But the second he did he came almost face-to-warhead with an anti-tank rocket. He didn't even have time to curse as Dewar yanked on the controls and practically hurled the tank almost ninety degrees to dodge the rocket. It went by so close Terry made a note to check for a skid mark on the tank later. The gunner sent a few bullets back the way the rocket had come before he heard Dewar yelling at everybody to get down. Confused, Terry turned his head from where he was aiming to see where Dewar's abrupt course change had them headed. This time he had time to swear, but since he tried to say about ten different curse words at once he just screamed incoherently as he ducked into the tank moments before it crashed straight though a wooden barracks building. Gasping for breath, he stared wide-eyed at his other gunners, who were gasping for breath as well and just as wide-eyed as he was. The _coup de grace _was when a pillow – a God-forsaken, full o' feathers _pillow_ – fell through Terry's gunnery hatch and landed next to him, in perfect condition minus a tear or two. The gunners just stared at it, Kempe was trying not to laugh as he ordered Five and Seven to evac, and even in the darkness Terry could see Dewar turn beet red at embarrassment over his mistake. Kessler just shook her head.

"This shit's just too weird for me guys," she muttered, Gahan turning to stare at her in surprise at the rare curse. "I should've been a clerk or a cook or something."

"No kidding," whispered Penarubia.

"No such luck, guys" said Terry with a chuckle, just as the tank punched through the other wall of the barracks and came out into the open. "Alright lads and lass, up and at 'em!" The gunners scrambled back to their posts to find their tank wearing what seemed half of the building on top. Terry pulled a bed sheet off the twenty mike-mike and started firing again as more enemy bullets pinged off his vehicle, yelling to his crew.

"Yup, definitely SNAFU: Situation Normal: All Fucked Up!"

_A/N_

_Well, that took quite a while to do, didn't it? Still, I hope it was worth the wait. A few items of importance:_

_(1)Castilian Spanish for 'donkeys' _

_(2) The _Nereid_, of course, was the Magellan-class ship that faced down the entire Zeon fleet to allow the surviving Federal ships to escape the slaughter at the Battle of Loum. Commodore Rodney Cunningham sacrificed his life, his ship, and the lives of its crew to save the survivors, believing that it is what the then-MIA General Revil would have done. The ship fought from 4:55 AM to 5:14 AM before finally succumbing to eight particle beam hits and four anti-ship missiles._


End file.
